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“Claire, the poor dog has walked that man up and down the street for the last forty-five minutes. With each round they stop in front of the house.” Roslyn dropped the parlor curtain back in place. “Why don’t you put them both out of their misery?”
Claire glanced up from the book on her lap, some dull tome by a long-dead author she’d never heard of. She’d found it on a bookshelf earlier. Roslyn said it belonged to her husband and Claire was welcome to it, so she’d decided to use it to make herself sleepy. It hadn’t worked. Then again, the sun still lit the sky.
She laid the book on the sofa, walked to the window, and peeked outside. Mark did look rather pathetic, but she must remain strong. She left the window before he saw her. “What would you have me do?”
Roslyn’s eyebrows arched. “You could go outside and say hello.”
Once she’d deliberated long and hard about how she ended things with Mark on Friday, Claire concluded that, as usual, she’d let her self-interest show in her responses to him at the baseball game and in his bedroom. Her face flared with heat over the latter.
She had no right to encourage his feelings for her. She had no right to endanger his business or lead him to believe in the possibility of a future together.
An ache began deep in the pit of her stomach, grinding and stabbing and spreading through every part of her, the burning ache of another loss and more unfulfilled dreams.
There was no satisfaction in knowing he had shown his selfishness. Although she understood the reason for his plan to remove the Kingsley name, it still hurt and implied a reluctance to stand up for her or any woman hoping to work as an architect. She could no longer abide anyone’s willingness to toss away the Kingsley name—her name—in favor of pleasing someone like Harris Lefler.
At a knock on the front door, the two women exchanged a glance. The corner of Roslyn’s mouth tipped up. “Well?”
“You can tell him I’m not here.”
Her friend brushed past her. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” She rushed up the stairs and disappeared, leaving Claire with her mouth open, afraid to call her back in case Mark heard her shout.
He knocked again. She stood motionless, undecided. Finally, she threw up her hands. This was silly. She was an adult, not a child refusing to play with a neighbor.
Claire opened the door and her heart’s erratic beat betrayed her effort to remain indifferent to him, to send him on his way.
Mark smiled, but his eyes conveyed apprehension. “Good evening, Claire.”
“Good evening, Mark.”
She couldn’t look at that little-boy timidity without being tempted to dash onto the porch and kiss away his reserve. To turn back time and see that self-confidence return.
The reminder that nothing had changed between them seared through her once more. It would only make things harder for him...and her.
Bending over, she held her hand out to Cookie, who nudged it until getting the head strokes she demanded. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Not as well as I’d like to be.”
Claire rolled her eyes and unbent. “I was talking to the dog.”
“She’s a highly empathetic animal, so my answer fits both of us.”
“You don’t look sick.”
He laid the hand with the splinted fingers against his chest. “Sick at heart.”
She tried to remain stoic, but like a spy sneaking into an enemy camp, a grin sneaked onto her face.
“Walk with me?”
“Mark—”
“Please?”
Claire glanced both ways down the street, then up at the sinking sun. The afternoon’s heat had dulled, removing that excuse, and Cookie whined as if adding her plea to the request. This would be their last time together, and he must know why.
“You won’t walk me for an hour, will you?”
Mark’s face flushed. She meant the question as a joke, but his gaze lowered to the dog. “A few minutes only. I think we’re both too weary for much more.”
She closed the door behind her, and they strolled down the front walk to the path worn through the grass alongside the street.
They rambled past three houses in silence before Mark said, “I don’t even know where to begin to apologize, Claire. You didn’t deserve what I tried to do, how I tried to take advantage of you.”
At the gasp behind her, Claire glanced over her shoulder at the elderly man who followed close behind them. Clearly, he had misunderstood the meaning behind Mark’s apology. Wonderful. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it, Mr. Palmer?”
He toddled in between them, pushing Mark aside. “You should be safe at home, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“Yes, sir, I will be as soon as Mr. Gregory and I finish our conversation.”
Glaring at Mark, the elderly man addressed Claire. “Want company?”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Claire leaned sideways and lowered her voice. “He’s truly harmless.” Most of the time.
Mr. Palmer gave Mark the once over. “You sure?”
“I’m sure, but I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”
His tense expression continued to exhibit mistrust. “All right. But don’t go nowhere private with him. Holler if you need me.” He shook a bony finger at Mark. “You behave yourself, young man, do you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
After he toddled away, Mark arched a brow, but those amber flecks in his eyes sparkled like joyful stars, showing off the return of his self-assurance. “Harmless, am I?”
Tingles crawled up Claire’s back.
He sobered. “I took the rendering to Mr. Arbuckle yesterday.”
Claire’s steps slowed.
“It still bears your name, and your name will stay there. I was wrong to suggest otherwise.”
Oh, Mark. “Did he accept it from you?”
“Only after I pointed out that nothing in the rules prohibits an entry from a firm that employs women.”
“I should have thought to say that.”
“Why? It never occurred to me until George Brant paid a visit to the office.”
Claire’s knees locked. “George? What did he want?”
“To see you. We spoke for a few minutes. He presumed that I’d lost the opportunity to submit my design, and on his way out the door, he mentioned the explicitness of the competition rules.”
“Odd.”
“I thought so, too. So odd that I was curious and reread them.” He chuckled. “Brant strikes me as a bully. I don’t like bullies, and I didn’t like him, but he pointed me in the right direction.”
“Why would George help you?”
“I’m not sure he had a choice. Before he arrived, I had quite a talk with God.”
In the next few minutes, Mark spoke of his decision to rely on faith rather than himself. Claire saw a side of him she hadn’t seen before, one she liked very much.
They reached the end of the block and together turned back toward Roslyn’s house. Their talk had cleared the air between them regarding Friday’s argument. The hard part—her part—was still to come.
He halted halfway up the path to the front door, drawing Claire to a standstill. “I’m also sorry for bringing up Richard in our discussion. It’s no excuse, but I was frantic. You see, I signed for a loan to start the business, and the first payment comes due shortly.”
That explained much. “The award for being a finalist would relieve the pressure?”
“Yes.” He stopped and turned to her. “You’re free to think me foolhardy and irresponsible for putting myself in that position in the first place.”
“Few successful companies start without help. Don’t they say it takes money to make money?”
“Unfortunately, it’s true, but debt is not something I take lightly.”
“Sometimes, it’s necessary.” Not wishing to bring her husband into the conversation again, she didn’t tell Mark that Kingsley and Brant began in the same way.
“I’ve been a pride-filled fool to think I controlled my own destiny. Trusting my future to God feels peculiar, but I’ll try to accept whatever comes.”
“I’m happy for you, Mark.” So happy she hated to ruin the mood. But it was necessary to break ties with him, to disappoint him now, rather than break his heart later.
He led her to the base of the porch. Cookie walked behind them.
She sought the words to tell him of her decision but instead said, “You didn’t mention Mr. Arbuckle’s reaction.”
“Another strange thing. He acted amused. Not in a pompous manner, more as though I’d passed a test. I think he approved of my argument that women weren’t specifically prohibited from the competition.” Mark paused, then sighed. “Afterward, he informed me that I have less than a one percent chance of my design moving to the next phase.”
A bubble of hope for him had expanded inside Claire. His last words burst it. “That proves I was right to stop working for you.” She climbed the porch steps. “You’re too talented to fail because of me.”
“You believe you’re responsible for my success or failure?”
“Your work is important to you, Mark. We’ve already seen what will happen if I’m part of it.” She must stay strong. “You’re meeting with Mr. Dover on Thursday. Please give him the sketches I’ve prepared and tell him I thank him for his faith in me.”
“Be there and tell him yourself.”
“I no longer work for you.” She opened the front door. “We need to say goodbye.”
He rushed up the steps. His wide-eyed gaze swept her face. “Goodbye? That sounds like more than an ‘I quit’ or ‘I’ll see you later.’”
“It’s best if our...involvement...ends.”
“It’s too late to end it.” He inched closer. “I love you, Claire.”
He loved her? Her steps shuffled backward with the sudden weakness in her knees. “No. You don’t.” How could he when he didn’t know everything?
“You’re wrong. I’ve loved you since the day we met in the store. I can’t explain it.” Mark grinned with the joy of ignorance. “I don’t even understand it, but it’s true.”
Hadn’t she concluded she felt the same about him, even when it was wrong? “There’s something I haven’t told you about me.” She looked away from the entreaty in his expression. “I lost two children during my marriage, Mark.”
His brow furrowed, but he reached out and touched her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
She jerked from his show of physical sympathy. If he kept touching her, she couldn’t say what was needed. She couldn’t force herself to make him understand.
“The first time I miscarried, we’d been married a few months. The second time about a year and a half. Afterward, I threw myself into designing, because I hadn’t the courage to face the heartache over and over. Richard wanted children, Mark. You want children.” The burning ache grew more intense. The ache of empty arms. The ache of loss. She’d learned that not even her work compensated for the guilt of having let her husband down. “I can’t... I just can’t.”
“You don’t know that, Claire. It might be different with us.”
“The disappointment on your face matches the skepticism in your voice.”
He frowned. “I’ll admit the news has taken me by surprise. Who wouldn’t feel staggered by that announcement? But—”
“There is no ‘but’ when it comes to my decision.”
The sympathy vanished, and Mark’s jaw hardened. “Your decision? You’ll give me no say in the matter?”
She drove home her point with the force of an arrow to a bullseye. “Don’t you understand that this would only cause problems between us?”
“You mean like right now?” He shook his head. “First, you think you’re saving me from a business failure. Now you think you’re saving me from a childless life? I don’t need your salvation, Claire. I need you.” His voice had grown fierce with a determination to sway her. “You’re the one who told me I’d never live a full life if I continued to assert my control over everything. Aren’t you doing the same?”
Was she?
Claire had cost Richard an important project. She had cost him an heir. And, in the end, she had cost him his life. How dare she chance ruining Mark’s life, too.
“I can’t pretend to understand everything you felt over losing a child.” His voice softened. “But I’ve known couples who have spent many happy decades together never having had children. If I’m willing to trust God for what comes, why can’t you?”
Having no reasonable answer for him, Claire entered the house and shut the door before she changed her mind.
“Don’t do this. Don’t push me aside!” His shout and the pounding of his fist pierced the wood. “Don’t push us aside.”
She pressed her back to the door and glanced up. Roslyn stood on the stairs, pity lining her young face.
Claire whispered past the tight muscles in the canyon of her throat. “It’s for his own good.”